


Again for the First Time

by reginaldthegreat



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Time Travel, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginaldthegreat/pseuds/reginaldthegreat
Summary: “One must never overindulge in a memory, no matter how fond,” Rosalind told him. He knew she was right. Of course she was right. But knowing isn’t always enough.
Relationships: Robert Lutece/Reader, Robert Lutece/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Again for the First Time

The music from the live jazz performance echoed throughout the dimly lit bar. The only lights in there were positioned above the bartender’s counter and the stage. 

Robert swallows the bile that rises in his throat when he sees you, exactly where he knew you’d be. 

You were sitting in the corner with the most light, far away from the few regular attendees. You didn’t order a drink; that wasn’t why you were here. You were here to draw. 

Tentatively, Robert takes a few steps closer to your hunched form, scribbling away in your sketchbook with graphite pencils your mother had given you. 

He wants to tap your shoulder, to watch the familiar scene play out again, but he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. 

“That’s enough of this nonsense,” Rosalind would’ve said had she known he was here, “you’ve got to let your mind heal! One must never overindulge in a memory, no matter how fond.”

He knows that if he taps your shoulder, you will turn around and look up at him with big, beautiful eyes. You’ll be annoyed at him for interrupting your doodling, assuming that he is simply a drunken fool taking advantage of your withdrawal. 

“I apologize for disturbing you, I was just wondering if I may borrow a pencil for a moment?” he’ll say, just like he said the first time.

Your eyes will soften and you’ll hold out a pencil, and he’ll allow himself the slip up of accidentally brushing his fingers with yours. 

Your hands will be warm, albeit a little sweaty from gripping the pencil tightly in your focused trance. 

“Pardon me, but have we met?” you’ll say. “You seem familiar.” 

He will lie, _unlike_ the first time, and say no. 

You will get caught up in a conversation regardless, and the conversation will last until the last jazz notes have dried up and the bartender urges you to leave. But you both will not want to go home. In order to avoid parting ways, you’ll step out into the cool air, proceeding to aimlessly wander the streets of Columbia, and he’ll ask you questions he already knows the answers to, just to watch you light up. 

You’ll tell him you have a thing for gingers, and he’ll blush and sputter long enough for you to notice the stray eyelash on his freckled cheek, shining faintly in the moonlight. 

“You’ve got an eyelash,” you’ll say.

“Where?” He’ll feign ignorance. 

You’ll stand up on your tiptoes to brush your thumb lightly against his cheekbone, pulling it away to show him the culprit.

“Did you know, eyelashes grant wishes?” you’ll say.

Of course, this was ridiculous to him the first time he heard that. _Ah, common folk and their superstition_ , he’d thought. Now, it was different. 

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, make a wish!”

He’ll stare at you, at the reflection of the stars over your heads that pooled in your eyes, and blow the eyelash from your fingertip. 

You’ll both stand there for a moment, and he’ll count the instantaneous segments of time between making the wish and the wish coming true. 

Robert Lutece will wait. He will not step through a tear or jump between moments in time to see the wish come true. He will wait. 

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi...

Your gaze will dart feverishly, between his lips and his tie and his eyes and he will wait, his heartbeat growing louder in his chest. The town square will be empty, the people of the city asleep in their beds. It will have begun to drizzle, leaving the cobblestones with a glossy shine, but neither of you will be in a rush to leave. 

“Robert-“ you’ll say, his name delicious on your tongue, and he’ll let his mind slip, let himself forget his mission and his sister’s warning and all the madness an obsession in quantum physics brought to his life, to his many lives. 

You’ll start to say his name, your expectation clear in your face, and as he leans forward to press his lips on yours, you’ll already be reaching for his tie. He will kiss you like the first time, but it will always feel better than the first time, because this memory is like the last drop of gin for a raging alcoholic. It is the memory that keeps him up when studying theory with his sister has failed to exhaust him. 

You’ll pull at him, pull him into you, and he’ll find his hand at the small of your back, the other holding your face, angling it in a way that he can taste as much of you as possible before you pull away to breathe. 

Your lips will be soft, so soft, and you’ll taste like-

“Pardon me?” you asked, waving a hand in front of his face to startle him out of his trance, still clutching your pencil. 

He looked down at you as you leaned back in your chair at the corner of the bar, raising an eyebrow expectantly at him. “I _said_... are you alright?”

He’d waited too long, so long that you noticed him. 

Betraying his better judgement, his mouth moved of its own accord, his voice bubbling up in his throat like an overflowing dam.

“Yes, I apologize,” he said, “I was just wondering if I may borrow a pencil for a moment?”


End file.
